There is a basic assumption many of us share about our modern age, and this is that we have it better than any other age. We live in the best period of history. Strictly speaking, such an estimation is unprovable; it is too subjective and demands data we do not have. But such technicalities hardly get in our way of claiming what seems to be obvious to us. We have running water and indoor plumbing; who would want to live without this? Medical technology performs heart transplants, removes brain tumors, and can stitch together the worst injuries. And of course, we have the internet. Case closed! For sure, such things are great for making life easier and safer. We often fail to notice the downsides to these advances, however. Great gains can come with losses and setbacks. Take the weather, for example. With our weather apps, we are all little meteorologists able to predict the future. Nevertheless, as someone once said, “Today, men look at the sky and see weather. In days of old, men looked at the heavens and saw glory.” Our modern eyes spot the physical but miss the spiritual, and Psalm 29 helps us with this very thing.
If you were walking the streets of Prague, Tokyo, or Dubai, amid all the sights and shops, you would have the definite feeling that you are in a foreign place: the indecipherable local language, exotic foods, and curious customs. It is wonderful and strange at the same time. And this tension confronts us in Psalm 29. In one sense, its lines strike us as just another psalm, familiar and typical; but in another way, differences intrigue and fascinate. It is like when a chef whips up a new twist on a classic. And this is deliberate, as the psalmist borrows some of the imagery from outside Israel. He gets his inspiration from pagan sources, even from idolatrous literature.
As you know, one of the more common cults that tempted Israel was Baal worship. Baal cults fenced in the state of Israel all around, especially within their northern neighbors of Tyre, Sidon, and Ugarit. The unhealthy influence of Baal worship constantly lured and seduced the Hebrews. Moreover, Baal was a storm god, who was credited as the lord of rain and thunder, of clouds and fertility. And what is one way you can combat idolatrous sway? You can deny these wonders to Baal and credit them to Yahweh. It is not Baal that sends the rain, but God! The mighty thunder does not belong to Baal; it is the Lord’s. And so, the psalmist sets his sights on this very thing. He takes images and language from hymns for Baal and he makes Yahweh the true author of them. Thus, one Ugaritic text says, “Baal sits, like a throne is his mountain, like a flood in the midst of his mountain. On the mountain of victory, seven lightnings, eight bundles of thunder.” In another text, we find, “Baal gives his holy voice. . . . His voice makes the land tremble; it makes the mountains tremble and leap.” Baal was credited with being enthroned over the mountains and seas, and his power echoed forth in the storm, by thunder and lightning. And as a top god of the pantheon, the other deities had to venerate Baal. This was your friendly, neighborhood Baal cult, and one that the Hebrews fell for way too often.
Therefore, the psalmist wants to nip this temptation in the bud. He seeks to confirm to the saints that Baal is a nothing god, while the wonders accredited to Baal in reality belong to Yahweh. He cranks up the volume on his song right from the start, with a loud, fourfold drum beat: Ascribe to Yahweh, ascribe, ascribe, worship Yahweh. Pronounce the excellencies of the Lord and give him all the credit and glory due to him. This psalm is no prayer, but is a robust and vigorous song of praise. The key for this musical doxology is tuned for a loud volume. One must raise one’s voice and not be quiet.
Note though, who is ordered to ascribe glory to God? It is the heavenly beings. Or more literally, “the sons of gods.” For us, this refers to the angels; the heavenly host must lift up their voices loudly. Within the ancient polemical context, however, this “sons of gods” is the name for foreign deities. Every nation outside Israel held to an entire pantheon, herds of gods and goddesses, from smallest to greatest. Baal was the top dog, praised by the other gods. Even though these idolatrous gods do not actually exist, the psalmist calls them to honor Yahweh. The fake gods of the nations must worship the Lord as the one Supreme God, Lord of Lords, and not the imaginary Baal. And if the heavenly angels ascribed glory to Yahweh, how much more should we join in?
Nonetheless, the opening chorus to ascribe glory now gives way to the body of the song, which sets forth a very specific scene and portrait. As we hear repeated over and over, “The voice of the Lord.” In fact, the voice of the Lord counts up to the number seven, God’s holy number. And Yahweh’s voice is an Old Testament idiom for thunder, so verse 3 reads, “The God of Glory thunders.” This is the psalm of Yahweh’s seven thunders. Silly Baal, the seven thunders are the Lord’s. Thus, this psalm has a very specific point of view, standing in Jerusalem, upon the temple mount, and watching a massive storm blow in off the Mediterranean Sea. In Israel, storms race in from the great sea, boiling the water in turmoil. Then the tempest slams into the mountains, particularly the lofty peaks to the north of Hermon and the Lebanon range. If you are a storm watcher, this is the ideal psalm for you. Psalm 29 is like sitting on your back deck to gaze at an awesome thunderstorm rumble in with immeasurable terror and power.
This, however, cannot be the weather watching of a modern, as if the superstorm is merely a conglomeration of physical phenomena. This is the folly of scientists, who posit that science disproves God and the spiritual realm. In reality, Scripture presents science as that which magnifies and supports the Lord. Hence, thunder is physics and theology. Thunder is the Lord’s voice. The soul-crushing booms of thunder manifest God’s power. To gaze at the sky and to see mere weather is to see badly.
But now that we are sitting in our theological Adirondack chairs on the balcony of Zion, let the storm come. Boom, the voice of the Lord is over the waters. The thunder of Yahweh bellows over great waters. The calm of the Mediterranean surges and foams. Waves swell into mountains crowned in violent mist. Gargantuan aircraft carriers become like toothpicks in this tempest. Yet, the mighty waters represent hostile forces in Scripture, the devils of chaos, evil, and rebel nations. To thunder over the ocean currents ascribes Sovereignty to the Lord. He is Master over the dark waters; those hateful waves cannot throw a drop beyond the limits God imposed.
This, though, is a fast-moving hurricane. God’s thunder plows up the seas and then it ravages the cedars. The cedars of Lebanon grow into royal trees. Like the sequoias of the Sierras, they reach into the heavens, with deep roots and massive girth. Lebanon’s cedars age up to three thousand years—this is older than the church age! The ancients reckoned these gorgeous cedars as sacred, precious gems within the realm of the gods. Baal was enthroned amid these Lebanese cedars. But the thunder of Yahweh respects no pagan sanctity. He grew the cedars, and he can fell them. The boom of the Lord breaks them like balsa wood. The Almighty’s thunder explodes the Ents of Lebanon. Talk about a deafening boom, when the decibels are so high they cause spontaneous combustion. So is the voice of God in the storm!
Indeed, Yahweh’s thunderclap pierces even into the mountains. Forget about the trees, the very rocks come alive in terror. The glorious cyclone untethers the mountains at the roots, changing them from an immoveable mass into skipping calves. On the whole, cows are more stoic animals, calm and chill, but when a calf is feeling its wild oats, it will leap and bound across the field like a child hopped up on too much sugar. Well, the great Lebanon peaks, the massive Sirion, dance and prance before the blizzard of the Almighty. Even the hills run scared by the glory of our God—talk about power and dread. And all this power is only the first part of the storm, the rest of which we will witness in part two of our exploration of Psalm 29.
©Zach Keele. All Rights Reserved.
You can find the whole series here.
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Zach Keele
Rev. Zachary Keele grew up on a ranch in a small town named Crawford, Colorado. He attended Geneva College in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania and received his Master of Divinity from Westminster Seminary California. He has served as the pastor of Escondido OPC since 2006.
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